Riddle of the Love Shaq: The Dark Lord Attaqs
by shaqcattywampus
Summary: The power of basketball brings Shaquille O'Neal and Voldemort together for one, magical, incredibly erotic night in 1996.


Shaquille O'Neal had noticed the pale man watching him from the bleachers during the game. The stands had been full of cheering LA Lakers fans, chanting his name and screaming for his attention, and yet Shaq hadn't been able to shake the the distinct feeling that only one set of eyes on him mattered. After the game was over, Shaq found that he couldn't stop picturing the man, couldn't stop thinking of him, imagining what they might've said to one another if they'd had a chance to speak...

"You coming with us, Shaq?" Kobe Bryant asked. He leaned seductively against his locker, which was next to Shaq's. The Lakers had won, and many of the guys on the team were going out to celebrate.

"Sorry, man," Shaq said, trying to let Kobe down easy. He knew the other player was into him, but Shaq really preferred shorter men. "I think I'm just gonna hang out here, take a shower and stuff."

"I understand," Kobe said. There were tears in his eyes, but he laughed them off. "Maybe next time?"

"You'd better hurry up," Shaq replied, intentionally not answering the question. He made his deep voice as gruff as he could, trying to imitate a bear who was kindly, but done with it. He nodded at the rest of team; they were streaming out of the locker room, laughing and chortling and squingling about together. "If you don't, the guys will leave without you."

He turned away before Kobe could respond, and opened a nearby locker so that he could hide behind the door. He hoped that this would make Kobe forget he was there. Shaq knew how beautiful he was, how desirable. He felt bad turning down so many guys on the team, but they just weren't what he was looking for. He froze, trying not to attract attention to himself and his well-muscled body, as the rest of the team tumbled out of the locker room.

At long last, the door swung shut. Sighing in relief, Shaq stepped out from behind the locker. To his surprise, however, he heard the door open yet again. Shaq spun, exasperated.

"Goddamnit, Kobe, I told you—"

Shaq stopped abruptly, his mouth hanging open. The man standing in front of him was not Kobe Bryant. It was also not Cedric Ceballos, Sean Rooks, or any other member of the 1996-1997 LA Lakers team. It was the man he had felt watching him from the crowd.

"I am not Kobe Bryant," the man said. His voice was like a snake's hiss, but somehow more sultry, more powerful, and way more British. Shaq's loins ached suddenly at the sound of it. "Nor am I any other member of the 1996-1997 LA Lakers. My name is Lord Voldemort, and I have been watching you."

At this, Voldemort drew back his dark, black, midnight-colored cowl, revealing a face unlike any that Shaq had ever seen. His skin was like a driven snow, paler than the complexion of any person Shaq had encountered before, and he knew a guy who was albino, so you know this had to be pretty pale. Voldemort's eyes flashed a sexy, burning crimson that Shaq found strangely irresistible. It was the man's nose, however, that really grabbed Shaq's attention; it was reptilian and nearly flat to the mysterious dark lord's face. Shaq let out an erotic "uunph" as his eyes fell upon it. No one could deny that this Voldemort guy was unlike all the Lakers Shaq had turned down; he was something else entirely—something otherworldly—and Shaq quivered with need at the thought of it, his anus shivering salaciously.

"You're like a snake man," Shaq moaned in tantalized awe. "I've always loved snakes..."

"Then I think I know how you're going to feel about this," Voldemort declared haughtily. Grabbing a fistful of robes in each hand, the Dark Lord roared lustily as he ripped the billowing, black garment completely in half, revealing the pale, naked body beneath.

Voldemort might've been more than foot shorter than Shaq, but he was still no slouch, physically. His body was lean and strung with the corded musculature of a runner. Medium width shoulders, a flat, hard stomach, trim hips, and below them...below them was something Shaq would never have expected, even in his wildest, smuttiest hoop dreams.

The man's penis was a literal serpent—a white-scaled, prehensile creature with a face of its own. The snake slithered as its beady, rosebud-colored eyes looked up at Shaq, forked tongue flicking titillatingly in and out of its mouth. Shaq felt his own snake (which was not a literal snake, but was still of considerable size and length) harden in his mesh shorts at the sight of it.

"Who are you?" Shaq purred as his legs buckled beneath him and he fell, overcome with arousal, to the tile floor. "How did you find me?"

"Magic," Voldemort hissed. He sank to the ground beside Shaq and began cutting the athlete's shirt away with one, long fingernail.

"My old team, Orlando Magic?" Shaq shuddered pleasurably at the sensation of the nail dragging down his chest. He could barely form words, so powerful was his desire for the enticing man before him. His uniform was wet with sweat and other things. "They sent you?"

"No," Voldemort growled hungrily into Shaq's ear. " _Real_ magic. I'm a wizard." He rubbed his bald head against Shaq's equally hairless one, making both of them writhe uncontrollably with erotic pleasure that left the two men panting for air.

Desperate for more, Shaq squingled out of his shorts. Nothing that was happening made any sense, but that didn't matter—not when he could feel Voldemort's elapine member undulating against his meaty thigh and flicking its tongue against his newly uncovered, umber skin. He felt the snake slither toward his own monstrously girthy phallus and wrap around it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Shaq whimpered in delight, though the sound was muffled by Voldemort's lips crashing down on his own. The wizard's tongue snaked wildly into Shaq's mouth, thrashing about with reckless abandon. Shaq thrashed back, hips bucking erratically as the serpent at Voldemort's loins slid sensually up and down every bit of Shaq's thick, pungent shaft.

It was clear that Voldemort was just as turned on as Shaq, if not more. He shuddered libidinously at each throb of the athlete's cock, which was roughly the size of a dachshund and three and a half times as wily.

The two lovers flailed about on the cold floor in a tangle of ebony and ivory flesh, their backs arched and their bald heads dripping with torridly generated perspiration. At long last, Voldemort cried out in warbling rapture, and his literal trouser snake reared up, bared its fangs, and plunged them into the base of Shaq's erect manhood. Voldemort's juices flowed from the fangs, welling up around them and dripping down Shaq's groin. It was the most provocative thing that had ever happened to Shaq and, as Voldemort collapsed, spasming in pleasure on his broad chest, Shaq felt himself erupt against Voldemort's abdomen in a thrum of near violent ecstasy.

"FOOT POWDER SPRAAAAY!" Shaq bellowed directly into Voldemort's mouth as he came.

Although Shaq was the larger of the two men by far, it was Voldemort who gathered Shaq's huge, utterly spent body into his arms. Even the serpent curled up atop Voldemort's balls and closed its eyes for the night. Intoxicatingly perfect as the moment was, however, as Shaq drifted to sleep with his head on Voldemort's chest and his lower half doused in drying wizard cum, he somehow knew with bittersweet certainty that, when he awoke, the dark lord would be gone. He knew that they both had other battles to fight—Voldemort against whatever magical foes were part of his world and Shaq against Kobe Bryant's unyielding infatuation with him, which Shaq was sure would eventually turn to the kind of bitterness and resentment that ripped teams apart. For that one, unforgettable night, however, the magic of basketball had drawn Voldemort into his life and into his embrace. For that, Shaq would be eternally grateful.


End file.
